EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE -PART ONE-
by Starskylicious
Summary: A story of silence, hurt, love and redemption with a glimpse of hope and a promise of a future.


**ACT 1 –THE FIRST DAY-**

"_From the desert to the sea, to all of Southern California… a good evening."_

Jerry Dunphy's deep, familiar voice boomed loudly over the air from news station KABC-TV. The silver-crowned anchorman reported further,

"…_the victim was found near the Ambassador Hotel in Koreatown early this morning. The Police have refused to provide further details. However, reliable sources indicate that the victim was a man in his late thirties, a native of the Boston area of Massachusetts, and a renowned scientist who was soon to become a father. His wife, a British citizen, has been hospitalized at an undisclosed facility in the area because of an emotional breakdown. The British Consulate has already been notified and taken action in the situation. The same sources suggest that the attack might possibly have corresponded with a threat formerly connected to the announcements delivered by President Reagan on March 23. They ruled out the possibility that the murder and supposed kidnapping could be linked to five similar deaths that have occurred in the city since March 1st of last year, though the evidence suggests…"_

He burst into laughter.

The man was sitting on his comfortable couch, in the shadowy and little living room at his private shelter up the hills. He was tired; in fact, he was exhausted. He had worked very hard earlier; he had gone to work in the dawn, keeping the same routine he had kept up for the past three months, just not to raise any suspicions. He also was barely hungry, though he knew he had to eat; so he stood up, opened the fridge trying to find something tasty or at least tempting and finding nothing, he thought about cooking some pasta. But then, since he didn't feel the strength to do it either, he rummaged in the kitchen cabinet for a Kraft Macaroni and Cheese -his favorite-. As he realized there wasn't any too, he took a can of Campbell's chicken noodle soup and opened it. He grabbed an apple from the crisper drawer and a bottle of chilled champagne and closed the fridge's door. He uncorked the sparkling wine and took a sip, right from the bottle's mouth, turned on the turntable and started listening to a record while he heated the soup bowl in his new microwave oven.

"_Mozart, champagne, and soup! Quite a combination - what the hell!"_ he thought and laughed, "_but today's the starting point of my last race, and I have to celebrate no matter what."_

He turned off the television. "Eyewitness News, my Lord!" he said aloud and smiled sarcastically, "Who is the witness?" he shook his head and broke into laughter again.

In fact, he was disgusted at such a display of human stupidity. Sometimes, the TV was the boob tube and this was one of those times; he did not want to watch television anymore. The mediocrity of his opponents impoverished his work, and he sickened at the thought. He could not believe how the Bay City Police Department turned out to have such poor standards and lack of professionalism.

"Oh, Dobey! Not even your duo of star detectives can hold a candle to me; I thought they were closer this time but... Man, only, I grant you that you are not the worst. I can't believe how Commissioner Reasoner has such a fertile imagination. Reagan's announcement? Star Wars? For Christ's sake! That's the most stupid thing I've ever heard! Oh, come on!" he said aloud to himself.

He was alone like he always was.

He shook his head and laughed again, heartily this time.

He finished eating, got up from the couch, took a shower and went to bed, pushing aside his black hooded sweatshirt and trousers and his black wig that had been left there.

All black.

He felt dark; he was black.

Tomorrow, after working hours, he was going to go to City Hall and start the application form… and everything else.

***************** S&H*****************

They arrived at the precinct earlier that same day, the morning of Monday, June 6th, 1983.

Their most recent '_most wanted'_ criminal, Madoc 'Mad' Parry, had killed again.

Dobey personally had made the phone call to contact them.

It had been a tranquil day until they talked to their Captain at Hutch's place. Starsky had gone to pick up his partner from his apartment in Venice at the usual time, honoring the same routine they had shared for more than thirteen years. Although they hadn't been feeling at ease together - for the past month or so - they were careful to preserve their habits; in a way, sadly, they felt those habits were the only thing left between them recently. One thing was true among all; they were both hopeless and exhausted; during the past three months, since Parry's last crime, they had been living secluded; devoted body and soul to the investigation and such diligence had only been rewarded with failure in return.

The weather didn't help, either. The heat bounced off the streets; it was too hot to move.

And they were worn out.

They felt fed up and empty-handed. The lack of answers in the case and the added pressure of the damn climate were overwhelming.

"_Quite a pair!" _ thought Hutch, the more analytic of the duo. "Look alive, Starsky!" the blond had told his partner just before the phone rang.

He couldn't help but feel worried; though the brunet's good looks remained, he realized that alarmingly, his partner had lost his natural dark tan, and he seemed to be gray, wan, and peevish. It bothered him that the man appeared to be enclosed in a cocoon, lately. True was that, lately, Starsky was jumpy, fussy and restless. And although he had always been that way -sort of, the blond could not determine the real meaning of his partner's behavior; whether it came from the weather, the heat, or something else, the reason the brunet was acting quite he was like out of place, which is why he always felt irritated.

Hutch realized that the dark-haired man looked on the edge all the time, at the limit. "_Wasn't he?"_. And that fact just got on his nerves.

Starsky was worried too. On the other hand, the blond man also looked drained and angry. Darker and more taciturn than ever. Hutch was confused, and he didn't understand whether something was happening or if he was just being intolerant. His usual concern about his partner had become somewhat obsessive, an obsession that Starsky could no longer tolerate. The brunet felt observed, monitored and continuously tried, and those feelings were an extra pressure to his weak physical condition that had begun to worry him so much.

Hutch craved his partner to be back.

And Starsky, sometimes, just wanted to vanish into thin air.

While Starsky was volatile, Hutch was trying to be fireproof, and it didn't seem to work.

The situation reminded them of Kira or that other time when they had lost John Blaine, and they had no answers. By the heat, the confusion, the hopelessness, the despair, and, above all, those unknown things.

The suffocating atmosphere didn't help, either.

Bay City was having the longest and torrid hot spell they could remember, and they were both burned out. The heat wave was scorching. The sun shone brighter than they had ever known, and was devastating. The usual humdrum of the busy Monday morning dictated their movements, but the hot and frantic rhythm that they were both keeping was merely automatic since sadly, it felt frozen and cold between them. Glacial inside despite the climate.

And that was tormenting them.

They were having breakfast at Hutch's home in Venice Place when the phone rang, that morning.

Starsky stood to get to it immediately and picked it up and Hutch could tell by his partner's expression, that something bad had happened. The brunet's face changed the moment he heard the voice speaking into his ear. After a short silence, he became transfigured and Hutch's feeling got worse when he heard his partner's voice, saying the three little words in a whisper, barely audible and reciting the dreaded surname into the ear of the person hidden behind the wire.

"I knew. Parry?", he said.

"_Oh no! Late again"_, the blond-haired man thought.

The brunet muttered something else that Hutch could hardly hear, just before he hung up the receiver, slamming it angrily.

They exchanged glances.

Starsky briefed his partner. He sounded both despondent and urgent. They left the apartment as briskly as they could, barely taking the time to grab Hutch's holster.

The Captain was waiting for them in his office, and they were two men on a mission: to get there as soon as possible.

Some things were going to start to change forever that day, but at the moment, they hadn't realized that they were never going to forget that dreadful Monday. June 6th, 1983.

Their "D" day.

Starsky rushed out of the apartment. Hutch was close behind, only pausing to lock the door. Unexpectedly, a fit of coughing attacked the shorter man near the bottom of the stairs, long and vicious and seeming as if it might never end. Suddenly, the brunet felt as if his consciousness ebbed away with the heat and the outburst. He blinked a few times before landing with a thud. Fortunately, he missed just one step, almost falling the rest of the way, but clutching the handrail in a death grip, not without some effort. He stayed for a long time, stationary at the bottom; trying to regain his breath.

The outburst caught Hutch halfway down the stairs and stopped him.

The terrible blast was very disturbing, awkward.

He didn't know what had happened to Starsky, but he realized that it wasn't anything good.

It was scary.

"Starsky, Hey," he said, and instantly the blond man went down at warp speed to where his friend was to lend a hand to hold him. He tried to give him some comfort and help. The extent of the effort didn't seem to justify his partner's troubled stirring, so it worried him. Starsky took a lengthy pause to catch his breath, and he looked at Hutch, who was numb, watching him intently. He reassured his buddy with just one nod, loosening the tension, and then he snorted.

The resemblance to a moment from a long time ago terrified both of them and Hutch especially; the vision of the brunet's sick and broken body drenched in sweat, and his shallow respirations, haunted him and couldn't let him go.

A few seconds later, recovered from the freakish impact, they headed to the curb and got into Starsky's car. They sat and waited for the curly-haired detective to calm down and regain his breath before daring to put the vehicle in drive.

Their eyes got lost in the windshield and the road ahead.

No words were said; they were sitting inside the car, angry and tired; their rowdy heartbeats were roaring like thunder inside the Camaro.

"_Damn Parry!"_ they both thought, and sighed.

Outside, it was so hot that it was hell inside the car; they were both sweating all over.

The parching spell was raging for its tenth day in a row, and they were worn out. Tired of the weather and the case, they snorted again inside the car; Hutch saw how Starsky put his hand on his throat, all drenched in sweat and closing his eyes while he sighed, then lowered the car window.

And so did he.

The wind seemed to have disappeared.

And so had all hope of rain.

There weren't any clouds in the sky; it was blazing and hazy.

It looked as if it were burning.

The steamy heat climbed from the earth.

The hot temperature went up into the atmosphere, and neither they nor anybody else felt like they were breathing.

The people who were walking in the streets were like wavering and flickering images. They caused an illusion. The people looked dissolved.

They felt that they were just floating as if levitating, paved in the tarmac.

They didn't talk to each other, either.

There wasn't enough air...

However, Hutch couldn't help but wonder if they felt that way just because of the heat wave, Parry, or something else? Or maybe because of _everything_ else. Maybe that thing, that big, invisible thing that was hovering in wait in the air as if defying gravity. That thing that was still unsaid; that thing thick enough and unacknowledged yet was the reason for their uneasiness.

Things weren't right between them, and they had not been that bad since Kira, before Gunther. Hutch remembered that back then, they were challenging each other all the time, struggling harshly against each other all the time and it was bad, really bad; only this time it was worse. Yeah, worse: he would have loved to feel that way, he even missed those sensations now; now, it wasn't that they were fighting like before, nor were they disputing with each other like when that woman had appeared and messed up their lives. That would have been better. Now, they just ignored themselves, and it was frankly inadmissible. Unconcern and indifference. Disregard and lack of interest were the sentiments which were passing between the two friends who were more than brothers, and this status was unbearable.

It was an entirely new and different world.

Fighting, yelling would have been expected, more or less, but this... this wasn't. Their communication had been broken and hadn't been working well for over a month, and that was what terrified the partners, and Hutch especially. It wasn't the rage, but the nonchalance and a cold, icy indifference; the apparent apathy that was happening between them which the blond could not understand why or toward what or whom it was aimed. Only the man could feel it destroying their partnership and tearing them apart.

And being apart was not their way.

They felt detached, unfastened; separated and irremediably alone like ordinary men, which undoubtedly they weren't.

"You said something about Parry?" Inside the car, Hutch broke the silence and asked Starsky casually, trying to ease the tension, since it seemed impossible to catch their breaths.

"Yeah, I did…" Starsky shrugged helplessly and filled his lungs with the so poorly available air, "You remember I told everyone that he was going to attack again, soon? That I had this feeling?" He shook his head in dismay. "Today, it happened in Koreatown. Well, seems to me that it was him, and it just happened again." He gave a shy smile. "I'm sure it was him. We did nothing, though." Starsky pursed his lips, grim and clueless. He felt he had no answers. "It looks like nobody cares anymore, Hutch," he continued and shrugged again, "and nobody listens." He complained, tiredly.

They were like that for some time, just breathing slowly and sitting inside the car.

Starsky's eyes were still fixed through the windshield, and then, settled beyond; his hands were unmoving in his lap. Hutch didn't say anything until the shorter man talked again. "I feel like my whole existence is a play, a comedy. And, I feel like this…" he shook his head, "this parody is coming to its end," and laughed ironically. "As if I am not. We are good for nothing, Hutch. We... we're not real anymore. Ours is a mock; I have this weird feeling..." He nodded reflexively, knowing there was something else he couldn't catch, "as if we are kinda outta here like spectators." He shrugged again, "A little sad too; I hate having the certainty that we're this useless." Starsky smiled, grimly this time, and turned his head to his partner, raising his eyebrows.

"You're scaring me. We are here buddy, you and me, together, and this is for real. And we are not useless." Hutch said, confused.

The brunet shook his head, uptight because of the words he just couldn't find.

He started the engine and gave Hutch a little comforting smile, trying to downplay the fact. He could sense Hutch's fear, and he acted accordingly and attempted to pretend.

"Naw, just forget it… 'S nothing, promise." He scratched his head. "I guess I'm just disappointed, disillusioned! I'm angry with everything, even with the whole Police Force, and the system, that's all. They don't listen, Hutch. You know how I get."

And he put the car in gear.

They fell silent.

Hutch knew Starsky, hell yes, he knew him! He understood what he was saying and the way his friend felt, but he could also tell that his partner was far sadder and more agitated than should have been. The blond forced himself to assume that he was feeling that way, because of a deadly combination of the heat wave, his fury, and lots of uncertainties about the case; a case that they couldn't decipher yet. He wanted to believe it, but he wasn't much sure.

There was something else, and he couldn't grasp it.

And that '_something else'_ was what terrified him.

The blond knew Starsky that much.

Something else was going on.

For Hutch, Starsky was like an oracle sometimes; always available, clear. Sometimes… But despite the fact that he could usually read him, that it was quite simple and very easy for him to decipher his friend's inner thoughts and even his feelings, this time he couldn't fathom what was happening to him, and it was that very same ignorance what was nagging at him, tormenting him. The way Starsky usually was with him, easygoing and open, wise, passionate, and temperamental, was just a memory at the time. It was all part of the past.

Nobody, not even the blond, could understand what was going on with him now neither why it was happening.

The brunet was just different.

And it was very frustrating.

Lately, it seemed that Starsky's legendary nature was torturing him.

At least that was what Hutch concluded.

What everyone else believed; wanted to believe.

When Starsky, the cop, the most vehement of the duo investigated a case, his commitment was so steadfast that he "breathed" it as if the investigation was his oxygen. His main reason to live became the case, and his objective, the search for the truth. To find the thief, the murderer, to extricate the facts, to decode the deceit, became his leitmotif, and sometimes, his obsession. The man was zestful and intense; he dedicated his life and safety to unravel an investigation and get to the end of it. He craved the final certainties. The brunet didn't know how to accept failure, and he didn't want to learn how. But sometimes that commitment left him ablaze in his rage; and with the people around him, he became choleric, a swirl of frustration.

And the frustration wasn't a word in his dictionary.

That was the reason it looked like his body weighed a ton.

Sometimes.

On the other hand, Hutch feared that the curly-haired man perceived that there was something else unexpected, and he was disappointed that he did not trust him with whatever it was. But since Starsky's intuition never failed, that fact also scared him. The brunet could be quite a clairvoyant sometimes. "_So what the hell was happening?"_

They were both afraid of the known things and those yet to be discovered.

And Starsky didn't seem to trust him, not anymore.

His friend lived his life to its fullest, whatever it took.

Whoever it took, even himself.

His job and his partnership with Hutch were his life.

And for some unknown reason, they were both fading...

They drove the distance in silence; the Camaro kept a steady, relentless pace until the moment they parked in their usual spot at headquarters. They got out of the car and finally made it into the building.

Like every day, but very different.

For starters, it unnerved the blond man that Starsky had headed straight from the entrance toward the main elevator. He thought "_more than thirteen years as partners, and we've hardly ever used it to get to the office!"_ He could not believe his eyes! Hutch was flustered; lately, everything annoyed him. Nevertheless, before he could even ask his partner why he had decided to take it, Starsky was already pushing the button. And he was doing it mercilessly...

"Hey, take it easy! What are you doing?" Hutch tried to stop him, put his right hand on Starsky's left arm, surprised. "The car's not here, don't you see? What are you taking the elevator for?"

"What for? Well, to avoid the stairs, to begin with, and after that, to go to the squad room, what else? That's what!" Starsky's look was incredulous, almost angry.

Hutch realized that his partner thought that he should have guessed the reason he had chosen the elevator, but certainly, he was at a loss.

Otherwise, Starsky's reaction and astonishment weren't comprehensible.

The brunet kept talking. "Besides, ain't it on the 5th floor?" he said irritated, "And why not? I mean we're in a hurry, Dobey's waiting for us and this," he gritted his teeth, "this scorching, dry, miserable weather!" he puffed, though he tried to sound reasonable.

"It is June, Starsk. I guess that, yeah, it is expected to be," Hutch made a face, "warm I mean, yeah. Wait until midday," he suggested ominously.

"Oh! You sure know how to encourage a guy, don't you? But maybe, just maybe I can complain in advance, '_Your Excellency.'_ May I?" Starsky mocked him. "I've been known to be the fussy one in this duo, the one with the temper tantrums, and I hate these hot spells and feeling sick and all. Oh, come on, Hutch you already know that."

Their usual banter recovered again; Hutch rolled his eyes, feeling exasperated.

They entered the elevator car. Starsky pressed the fifth. He supported his right arm on the frame of the door as it began to slide closed as if resting, while he bent his head down toward the floor. He unzipped his white jacket halfway with his free left hand, in one rapid movement. He took a deep breath, seeking to inflate his lungs, almost a sigh, precipitating some new coughs, and the blond could see a thick layer of sweat flooding his pale face, '_was he that hot?'_ Hutch thought.

Starsky looked defeated; the lightness of his tone had gone, and he bitterly said, almost in a whisper, suddenly, "I feel like rawhide, Hutch, all cracked and dried inside out, dehydrated." He winced. "The jacket! Oh, this damn jacket, it - it sticks to my shirt, the shirt to my skin. Damn! I hate that I have to wear a jacket in summer. Damn holster." He took a deep breath, straightened his torso and stretched his back while opened his coat, cursing helplessly.

Hutch looked at him curiously, "Hey, take it off then. We're not on the street right now" he said with pure logic. Starsky looked at him; he was nervous; he felt erratic like a wrecking ball. "Yeah, you're right. Besides, I'm not feeling like going up all five flights of stairs and all with this…" He took off the jacket and explained himself, grimacing again. "I'm tired and kinda short of breath, too." The dark-haired man raised his left hand forcefully toward his chest, compressed it. He winced and finally ended at the neck of his blue tee, stretching it while he panted.

He didn't dare look Hutch in the eye, but Hutch was inquiring and lost in a deluge of unknowns. But then the flaxen-haired man decided to reject the suspicion, the feelings; besides, he didn't wanna know.

That was the very first time.

The confined space of the elevator was suffocating enough, and Hutch had the feeling that claustrophobia was going to stay forever in his soul if he asked and found out, so he chose the silliest and most hollow words he could have picked, just to demystify the moment, to avoid getting to the core and understand.

He knew that something was bad; something was very wrong. Hence the denial.

"Starsky, you love that jacket!" the blond-haired man said. "You _are_ weird!" he ended superficially.

Starsky looked at him, astonished.

And then, laughed.

"Yep, maybe. Weird that is. But I sure as hell am tired, Hutch," he replied. "I think I'm going," he moved his hand wordlessly, "to faint any minute, any second from a heat stroke!" he said in a rush, regretting the outburst. The brunet fixed his big blue eyes on those of his partner, hesitating for a brief moment whether to tell him or not, but deciding finally not to do it, he relaxed his face and then added, "And I'm so damned hot." He redoubled the bet with a muted snarl and a kiss that drifted through the air. He sealed the whole act with a playful wink and a colorful chuckle, straight from his eyes and his mouth, direct to Hutch's face.

The routine, impish scheme; the gag.

Hutch blushed and laughed.

Although he was still scared.

Mysteriously, their normalcy had been restored.

"_Let Starsky do miracles,_" the blond-haired man thought.

In times of crisis, Starsky sometimes acted like a whirlwind, and as if he were the eye in the middle of the storm, he drew all the attention toward himself. Hutch was both anodyne and catalyst to his demeanor, keeping the whirlwind from flying apart while nourishing him information, insight, and energy; receiving it all back with Starsky's unique spin, and feeding it back to him from a different angle until their thoughts meshed and reeled together.

It was always a strange synergy to witness, to enjoy.

Starsky was as erratic as he could be. Hutch remained grounded, his anchor; and he functioned in that way, too, for the other detectives, who could hardly keep up with the amount of information that passed through their heads, and the speed with which they shared it.

It was Hutch's pace which allowed the others to detach from the phenomenon that Starsky was, as mere spectators.

Hutch explained him; he translated his tumultuous partner so the rest could see the whole process work in perspective, that wonderful and hectic activity that boiled in Starsky's flexible style and fused in Hutch's unique complement.

They were like a magnet, their fellow officers felt attracted to them, but intruders in the end.

Starsky and Hutch, together, seemed invincible.

That was their inestimable worth within the group; to working together like a precision machine.

Starsky was the necessary key to Hutch's lock.

Hutch, the essential interpreter of Starsky's basic ideas, his overpowering gut feelings.

Yes, together, they were invincible!

Those same dynamics were what had led them in the past to find some of the most unexpected, creative, and compelling lines of inquiry.

It was not the case this time.

Starsky rather was somewhere else...

Leaving the elevator on the fifth floor, they burst through the swinging doors of the Homicide squad room. The squad was in turmoil. Dobey was barking orders; the recent events were rushing uncontrolled, and the man was trying, by any means, to prevent the as yet unconfirmed information from reaching the media.

The brass wouldn't accept another failure.

However, when they both entered, Hutch was well aware that the Captain had reserved a particular look for Starsky, which he gave to him at the exact moment they crossed the squad room's threshold. When they entered the busy, noisy room, Starsky also noticed that Dobey looked at him in a different way, and he even reciprocated with a slight bow. So subtle.

It was at that moment that Hutch knew that his partner hadn't been mistaken.

The sixth murder had been committed in Koreatown, and it had occurred just the day Starsky had predicted.

And their man had perpetrated it.

Madoc Parry.

Their uncatchable monster.

"Starsky, Hutch! Come on, get in there!" Dobey cried, pointing to his office.

The door shut behind them. Hutch took his usual seat. Starsky followed, almost unwittingly, but stayed still, lurking by the water cooler, quite troubled until he leaned over it. The blond detective saw the way his partner passed his left hand over his forehead and down to his nape. He worried. It looked like he was holding it, squeezing it; his head spinning around in circles, the brunet closed his eyes, at the same time that he cleared his throat and stepped toward Dobey's desk.

"You're coming down with something; that's a given," Hutch murmured when Starsky passed by him, raising his eyes to his partner, "How do you feel?"

"Yeah… I don't know, maybe, but I'm okay; better, I mean. I'm just stiff!" Starsky answered uncomfortably, without looking at Hutch.

"You have a fever?" the blond insisted.

"Naw…"

As he had been doing lately, Starsky decided to ignore his partner; purposefully.

He snorted and approached Dobey's desk, sighed as if he was winded.

He grimaced in pain, resting his hands and his upper body's weight on them and looking down at the Captain, who was sitting in his customary chair, in front of his best pair of detectives.

The same routine of indifference that happened lately; Hutch was sick and tired of it all.

Starsky cleared his voice, composed himself for a second and changed the subject. "What happened Cap'n? I thought that we had Parry cornered this time; that we had him. I mean Ressler and me, we…" he was interrupted by his commanding officer.

"The hell with Ressler, Starsky, that's bullshit, and you know it! Same MO. It was him; you were right." Dobey said grimly. The Captain lowered his head and stared at the desk. "We found the body at the corner of Wilshire Boulevard and Mariposa Avenue near the Ambassador Hotel. This time it happened in Koreatown!" The grumpy man raised his eyebrows toward his curly-haired detective and nodded at the silent reproach. "Yeah, you were right. I'm sorry we haven't been up to the circumstances. This man is crazy, his mark was all over the place." he finally cursed, remorsefully.

Dobey felt enraged and powerless. And so did the voiceless Starsky who felt dejected and defeated by the news, as well. The dark-haired man nodded; he sat down and said nothing more.

According to the patrolmen that had gone to the crime scene, the victim was in his mid-thirties. He was Caucasian, medium height and build, with mild features, straight blond hair.

They didn't know his eyes; they were closed. Neither was there any evidence of harassment or a hint of a struggle. A few Polaroids from Forensics showed the detectives and their captain the gory details of the murder.

The young victim had been stabbed multiple times in the stomach and chest, just after being administered an electrical shock. The knife blows had punctured the man's lung, his heart, and his abdomen. The offensive weapon had been left there, in the chest wound while cuts and burns were all over the helpless sufferer's torso. He was dressed, though shirtless, and like the other times, there weren't any visible traces of sexual assault, no signs of penetration, though the scientists had collected some liquids samples at the site.

Like Dobey said, the same MO and the unmistakable imprint of the Welsh red dragon decorating the unfortunate body… Alongside the flowers and the smell of the burnt skin caused by the electrical shock, the body was only sprawled on the tarmac, left at his mercy in the middle of the street.

A kid had found him.

Like the other times, the man had only died.

Killed, just for the hell of it.

Parry's joy, and his pleasure. As he always did.

"Mad" Parry was a Welsh immigrant who sealed his macabre work with an obscene template of a red dragon, as "decor" in his crime scenes along with a bouquet of golden daffodils. _'Y Ddraig Goch,' _the red dragon, and the yellow daffodils, both, were the symbols of Wales.

And those symbols were all over the scene in Koreatown.

Everything linked him to the crime and assured them that he had attacked again.

Regardless of Starsky's hunches.

Hutch looked at the pictures automatically but meticulously; "_undoubtedly it was the same MO"_, he thought.

"Why didn't we listen? You're going to take everything from all of us, Parry," the blond-haired man cursed in a soft murmur, barely audible.

Like any other serial killer, Parry had been waiting backstage, several months, in yet another dormant period for the right moment to come back and attack. And now, he was back. And though Starsky had managed to unravel some of the keys to the case to the point that he had discovered the exact day Parry was going to attack again and they could have sufficient evidence to arrest and charge him, they didn´t know where he was. They had lost him.

That was his main advantage.

He was a master of concealment; he was armed, somewhere, waiting to attack without being discovered. It had been that way for the last fifteen months, and he still was.

Despite the fact that having followed Starsky's line of research, this last murder, the sixth, could have been positively prevented they did nothing.

They were obsessed.

The puzzle was unfinished. The essential piece was missing.

And he, the Welsh, like destiny, was watching them. Playing with them. They could sense him.

A silent enemy, latent.

The crouched death was lurking somewhere. Waiting.

Waiting for them to let down their guard.

A tremendous irony.

Somehow, Starsky had known though they had been too late, and the weight of that guilt over the failure, its burden, attacked him fiercely; that was what everyone thought in the Precinct.

Everybody at Headquarters thought that his falling apart was related to their inability to pursue the investigation at the time; that he looked so toppled and downed, because of the unsolved crimes and the hidden traces washed out in the lost souls of the unfortunate victims. Knowing Starsky the way they did, they all thought that his failure, the whole case, was the one and the only reason for his downfall.

And even they blamed him for that.

Little they knew that his devastated appearance, his uncomfortable moodiness, weren't related just to the investigation itself and its breakdown, but to the immediate outcome, his life had in store for him.

They didn't know.

He didn't know either, that there wouldn't be much more time left to know.

* * *

**ACT 2- A MAN NAMED DAVID-**

"Maybe we should go to the scene again, see if we can find something else there. What do you think?" Hutch continued, still at Dobey's office with the pictures in his hands. He received neither a word nor a flinch from his partner.

The atmosphere felt thick.

"Starsk...?"

The Captain turned his head when he heard the blond's pleading voice, and the dark-haired man's awkward silence became evident. He was surprised, just like Hutch, by the lack of response. It was very atypical. The men noticed that the usually active detective wasn't listening, that he was lost in his reverie, distracted and worried about something and, strangely, uncharacteristically quiet. The way his arms were resting listlessly, hands in his lap, his head down, spoke volumes about how worthless he felt. Hutch asked again, insistently, "Starsky?"

Without looking at him, Starsky answered, "Yeah. I bet the poor unfortunate was..." He shook his head. "His name was David?" He raised his eyes to the Captain, ignoring his partner, and Dobey nodded, closing his own eyes to the forcefulness of their only certainty. Starsky nodded, too. "Son of a bitch!" he said bitterly.

A knock on the door broke the silence, and they raised their heads to the trembling young man who was standing on the door frame. It was Tim, Collins's son from R&I, who offered the preliminary report to their Captain. Dobey thanked the rookie, grabbed the report, dismissed him, and tossed it on his desk. He sat down and started reading aloud, his head resting on his left hand, looking dejected.

"David Kandalevsky." He made a face and grabbed his chin. "Electronic Engineer, 37, from Newton, Massachusetts. M.A. in Astronomy at BU. He was getting married next Friday, fiancée Britney - uh - Britney Ashford, from Lancashire, England she is six months pregnant". He raised his eyes to his detectives, sighed and went on; "He moved from Boston to Koreatown last August and had been working at the Griffith Observatory since March. He had been one of the scientists recruited to recreate the specifics of the Strategic Defense Initiative. In '81 he had participated in the series of experiments under the 'Excalibur' name…" the captain snorted. "I don't know; maybe we should start there..." He shut the record soundly and gave it to Hutch.

"I don't want the Feds involved, Cap, or messing with our investigation," Hutch said, before opening the file and starting to flip through the record.

"Neither do I!" Dobey snapped.

"We already know that this has nothing to do with what the allies must do '_to protect their people in the years ahead_," Hutch said, paraphrasing Reagan's speech sarcastically.

Dobey chuckled and said, "Starsky? What do you think?"

"His girl is pregnant. Is she okay?" came the distracted reply.

Dobey and Hutch shared an incredulous look; Starsky had undoubtedly not been listening. The shorter man was still flat, silent beside his partner, and he had lost the ability to understand and hear, apparently. Hutch was so upset that decided to dive back into the file. He kept reading it just not to get involved in an argument with his friend in front of the captain. Starsky's strange behavior annoyed both of them; however, his captain decided that he wouldn't pressure any response just then.

Things were bad enough the way they were without adding any extra problem, so he answered the brunet's question.

"Yes, Starsky. They transported his girlfriend to Receiving Hospital. The girl didn't take the news so well, as you'd expect; that's why I think that we'd better start at the Observatory; spare her for a few days. I was asking you about it, what do you say?" the captain searched for Starsky. "Dave?" he insisted.

When the answer didn't come, Hutch instantly raised his eyes from the record and turned his head to his left, to Starsky.

The sight was shockingly overwhelming.

"Starsky!" Hutch couldn't help but shout. The brunet was an alarming view. He was barely holding himself in, they could tell. His sadness, his grief was so evident that it seemed like he felt tired of being so useless and guilty. The picture took them back to that other time; to those days, which Dobey and Hutch remembered very well. That time long ago, when they were so young, and Starsky had killed that boy, Lonnie Craig. Back then, the brunet was devastated, and he felt sorry for the unfortunate episode as if he was solely responsible for pulling that trigger. He had not pulled the trigger alone back then; either he didn't do it now.

Nor he was solely responsible.

He didn't deserve his punishment before, and neither did he deserve it now. But now, the sensations were identical and were still there. His feeling of dejection and remorse were just the same.

The rotund man and the blond detective exchanged glances.

"Starsky?" This time, Hutch insisted and hesitantly reached for him with his left hand.

"Yeah, yeah," the brunet answered and filled his lungs. "Today, what day is it?" he said, irritated, and retained a gulp of air. He didn't wait for an answer, he just shook his head and kept talking. "Never mind, whatever you say, Cap'n. I just need to…" He rubbed his forehead, closed his eyes, "I would like to contact Ressler before, I don't..."

"What is it, buddy? Why do you need to contact Sam, now?" Hutch asked, surprised. Starsky wasn't making any sense

"I just need to talk to him!" Starsky shouted, almost at a nervous break.

"Hey! Answer your partner's question, detective! What for, Starsky?" Dobey shouted, pissed off. The dark-haired man had reached the end of his captain's endurance, as he usually did. "Anytime we talk to him, he starts with his psychotic riddles that lead us nowhere. What do you need Sam Ressler for just now?" Dobey repeated.

Starsky closed his eyes to the image of his superior in front of him. He felt he was belittling him. Starsky closed his ears to his captain's shouts.

Starsky closed.

***************** S&H*****************

Samuel Ressler.

Sam was the psychiatrist who gave them the medical background in the case and helped them try to decipher the intricacies of the killer's mind. The doctor had been convinced that there would be plenty of time to chase Parry and arrest him before the next attack would occur. Hence, their surprise - and Dobey's chagrin, when this last murder happened.

The captain didn't want to hear about the psychiatrist.

A sixth victim had been found, and instead, they hadn't been able to track down the killer's steps yet, and he blamed the doctor for that or at least that was what Starsky supposed.

"You blame him, right? Wouldn't if it's good to do a little self-criticism instead?" he said, uncomfortably and after a lengthy pause.

The captain stayed silent; he frowned angrily. He didn't need a subordinated to remind him of his frustration, not even someone like Starsky. However, when his captain's answer didn't come, the brunet decided to keep pushing, as if he were willing to get a suspension for an act of insubordination or maybe only a legitimate excuse to disappear. He provoked. "I just need to speak to him; that's all! And I don't give a damn if you understand why I need him right now or not!" the curly-haired man repeated as if he hadn't heard Dobey's cries and reasons before. Starsky gave his straight, brief and - quite rare for him at times like that - hostile response.

And then he stood.

Unexpectedly.

What's more, he rushed out of his captain's office, slamming the door.

"Your manners! You better..." Dobey stood up angrily, also shaking his hand and signaled his departure, "Don't you ever rush out of my office that way again! It is not a revolving door, Starsky!" The black man shouted into the void the brunet had left behind, "And you," he pointed his index finger at Hutch, "Don't just stand there staring at me! Go after him and see that he doesn't do anything stupid. I know that ill look of his from years of seeing it! You better find out something in the next few hours or we …"

Hutch stood up and closed the door behind him. The blond man felt bewildered, and Dobey's screaming was all over. He rushed after his partner as fast as he could, but there was no trace of him, not in the squad room, not in the hallway. Not even in the bathroom. It seemed as if he had evaporated. "_Where could he be?"_

Hutch came back to their desk; the empty seat in front of him haunted him. How many times had he stared at that same empty chair in the past? Too many times, God help him.

"_Please, never again," _he thought, but he didn't know why.

His partner's absence, where it was not meant to be, was just beyond all bearing.

Hutch was at a loss; he didn't know what was going on in his partner's restless mind. He thought that maybe it would be better to try to reach Ressler; since Starsky had said that he would contact the doctor; he would know what to tell him.

Sam would know.

Samuel Ressler.

From the very first day that Sam had come to the station, more than one year ago, they had hit it off. The doctor somehow had been helping the detectives to lead the investigation up to the point that his suggestions had been crucial to some decisions they had made in the past. They grew so fond of each other that everybody in the precinct could tell that Sam and the successful pair of detectives had become good friends. They got along well together and had shared memorable times at Huggy's, drinking beer, playing pool and fooling around with women; bragging about the past. "_God,"_ Hutch smiled, genuinely moved, and gloated at the single memory of those times when they were just like kids and took their lives for granted.

They were such a great threesome.

Sam was quite a sport.

A good, reliable man.

And Hutch could trust him.

The blond detective tried to reach him at the hospital first, and then he called Cabrillo but had no luck either. "_Where could he be? Where could Starsky be?"_ he wondered.

In the meantime, while waiting for his partner to show up, the blond couldn't help but think about that first time when '_the doc'_ came up to the station.

About that new friendship, they were so fond of sharing, and thinking about Starsky.

Though he ought to admit that he was jealous at first, he had realized that Sam had turned into a good friend to them, immediately. The doctor was someone who didn't compete with him for the love of Starsky. Someone who had accepted that Hutch's relationship with his beloved, occasionally childlike, and narrowly trusting partner was beyond any competition, so particular and unique as he was, as they were both together.

Hutch realized that Sam, regardless of his first impression, became someone who enriched their friendship and respected their bond, after all. Aww! He did enjoy those memories! How he took pleasure in that new and selfless relationship, the doctor had with Starsky and him. While he was waiting, many moments came and went through the blond's head.

Above all, he remembered one day, three months ago.

That day in early March, when the fifth attack occurred, and David Sagay was killed.

He didn't know the reason he remembered that day among all the others, perhaps because that day Hutch had realized how far their friendship with the loyal doctor had strengthened, maybe that was the reason; however, that was the first recollection he had. The day that kid died, he and Starsky were sitting at their desks at the station when Sam entered the room, brusquely, and looking oddly withdrawn. David Sagay turned out to be the son of his partner at Cabrillo State, so he was devastated by the news of his assassination. Hutch vividly remembered Ressler's words at the time, about Parry and helplessness. He remembered how the doctor was so sure it had been the Welsh, the same monster who was still seeking vengeance, the man who had killed the kid. He, Madoc Parry, who had mirrored in this new batch of killings the old ones to the extent of total mimicry.

His MO modeled those of those years ago.

That day, the doctor was so broken; he burst into tears at the Police Department. And then, despite the medical confidentiality he ought to observe, he told the detectives almost everything he knew about Madoc Parry.

Almost.

He told Starsky and Hutch that 'Mad' had confessed him that 18 years ago he had killed seven men. Not just only one; the only one for whom he was convicted, but also six more. That unspoken truth pierced the doctor's soul, even smothered him. So aside from all the information that he had been providing them before; in addition to everything that he had told them since the first day they met, he needed to share that last piece of truth.

Everything he knew related to Parry's former slaughter.

He also told them the rest of the story.

The story that was nearly choking the physician, since the weight of the guilt was so heavy for him to bear. Sam Ressler felt that if he would have said that before, maybe he could have spared his friend's son's life, but then his professional commitment had prevented him from doing it. After what had happened, he knew that that attachment to his medical responsibility could have cost the kid his life, and he just couldn't help feeling guilty.

Sam was so like Starsky regarding his limitless passion for his professional work that besides making Hutch feel amazed to share that commitment with them, sometimes it made him feel pretty jealous too. The blond sometimes seemed diminished in front of the exuberant nature of his friends, hence he liked to play the game he played, the exaltation of his personal virtues; he was not pedantic as everybody believed and only Starsky knew.

Sometimes he only felt insecure, or scared, he didn't like to fall again in that same place he was in his life before Starsky's imprint on it. Timid and alone in one dark, and lonely place. "Or did he?"

He banished the thought.

However, that was the way he was feeling, lately: Alone. It had started almost one month ago, and definitely after Sagay's death. Since that first day when "the doc" had come to the station, in March of the past year, there had been four more murders.

Until today's death in Koreatown.

The last in this new set of crimes; the one that Starsky had already predicted.

The sixth assassination.

All of them... men; all men named David.

Their only lead.

Even though Starsky could have been closer than anyone, it hadn't been enough.

They had failed miserably. All the participants in the process had failed.

And now, Parry was back.

The most awkward thing of all was that the killer was their shadow.

The shadow of death, which had started to envelop Hutch, and to threaten Starsky and everybody else.

He was at it for more than an hour, trying to find Sam and Starsky, lost in his reverie, paralyzed until the moment Dobey burst out of his door and startled him.

"Hutchinson, right here in my office. Where's that partner of yours?" Dobey was sweating. Chief Ryan had just called him to his office and had told him the Police Department's public version, which, via the FBI, they were going to put up with the press through Channel KABC-TV's Eyewitness News. The Captain didn't agree.

"I dunno Cap, I couldn't find him yet. He just vanished. I've been trying to find Sam too by the phone since Starsky said that he would contact him but nothing either. I guess the latter that I have to do is to try with Minnie, see if he reached her, but her line's busy as well. I spoke to Cheryl and Meredith. I even went to the Canteen... and nothing so far." Hutch said dutiful and worried.

"I don't care WHO you call or WHAT it takes to get to him; I don't even care WHERE he is! The Chief is expecting me in his Office to have a meeting with Commissioner Reasoner, so I've better get there before Chief himself arrives. I don't have time to waste searching for missing partners, so you better change your face! I won't put an APB on him either because he has just disappeared in Headquarters. You look so... disorientated! Come on, Hutch! Collect yourself!" He stopped when he realized his overreaction and finished saying, sorrily. "I'm Sorry, Hutch, 'm sorry. But this case is getting increasingly bigger and bigger." The rotund man sighed, "Looks like a reckless ball of fire to me, unmanageable, and I'm sure that their splinters will splash us all." he shook his head. "We will be all sprinkled at least, or worse; I guess we'll be all end up incinerated!"

Dobey told the blond man the stupid ploy that the Police Department had developed to break into the people by Channel 7's News' service.

"They said that they were justified in spreading this nonsense _'regarding the people's safety and to avoiding an outbreak of mass hysteria,'_!" the Captain shook his head, bewildered and nauseated. Dobey said in disbelief "that was the lame excuse they used to lie to the folks, this time." he finished flustered. Hutch felt uneasy and shook his head in concern, too.

He had tossed his badge into the ocean that time, why was he still here? He should have retired when he decided to do it; he hated being a part of this farce sometimes. They thought that the plan was an unpresentable hoax.

"Anyway," Dobey scratched his head, "I'm telling you, Hutch, you better find Starsky and inform him about what the brass had decided to put up as the Official version of the case. I mean before he opens that big mouth of his!"

Hutch chuckled but stayed speechless for some time and then he said. "I'll find him, Cap, no worries. I'll tell him that he must keep his big mouth shut, just in case any reporter assault him or us. You know, the '_No comments routine._'" Hutch winked his eye to his Superior and started leaving the Office.

"Oh, and, by the way, Hutch, wait." The Captain stopped his Detective at the threshold.

"Huggy called at my extension because yours was busy and asked for both of you to get to The Pits. See a man named Leon."

Hutch shrugged and got back to his Captain's desk. "Something about Parry? Maybe a leak?" he finished.

"You know Huggy, he played mysterious with me." the Captain said flustered.

"Okay, I'll see what I can do," Hutch said selflessly, his focus in Starsky's whereabouts. He stood.

"You'll SEE? The hell you'll see, Hutchinson! There's nothing to see, but MOVE! You better split, yesterday! And keep your nose to the grindstone! I want results, and I want them immediately! Otherwise, you and your partner will be forced to ask for an early retirement!" Hutch nodded and started going to the hallway. The Captain also stood. "As I've said, Hutch," The fat man started collecting the files and photographs that were scattered on his desk, distractedly but showing them to his detective. "See to find Starsky or leave him here alone. I don't frigging care a damn thing about him. Go to The Pits. Bring me the clues! And make sure that your partner keeps his mouth shut! He's intractable! and he is not working on full cylinders lately."

That last growl stabbed the blond detective in the middle of his heart, and Dobey noticed. Hutch's expression was transparent. The seasoned cop couldn't do anything but regret it immediately.

For Hutch, It was like watching a movie.

He couldn't help but remember his Captain's same grimace; four years ago, his bitter words at Memorial's makeshift squad, after Gunther, when Dobey had almost sentenced Starsky to death. And Dobey remembered that moment, as well. And the blond's shocked face too, his complexion mirrored in anguish. Hutch's sense of loss was back, "_I already have a partner, I don't need another one"_ came to the memory. "_But Starsky, only Starsky,"_ he warned his Captain at that time silently, so Dobey retracted and said contritely. "I'm sorry Hutch, forgive me but... frankly, I think your partner's been very weird and distant lately. I don't know, different just different, kind of he's not him. Do you know if something else is going down with him? If something's happening? I'm worried about his attitude. Today he looked very withdrawn, and he's been that way lately". Dobey shook his head. He was concerned and continued saying. "By all means, he seemed to be more annoyed with the fact that he had suggested the possibility that the murder will be committed today, than with the fact that the crime had been committed itself! I just can't grasp what's going on with him. I know that he's angry because he thought that we didn't do anything about it, but... Hutch? Do you listen to me? What's going on with Starsky?"

All of a sudden, Hutch felt deeply embarrassed. Helpless, in a way he couldn't find the words to describe and empty, extremely empty.

"_How come I'm also in the dark?"_ He wondered.

Time was when he could penetrate Starsky's inner thoughts.

"_Why do I feel just like Dobey about my partner? It's Starsky we're talking about, for Christ's sake."_

"_What's going on? What's going on with him? With Starsky. With both of us?"_ He couldn't find out.

Usually, when Dobey did not know something about one of the two partners, that ignorance was reduced to him because the other partner knew exactly what was going on with his other half. That was the way they had worked together. They had lived together, loved together.

Always.

Until one month ago.

Maybe Dobey could not know something about Starsky; perhaps he could not know something about Hutch, but as the brunet had said years ago, they always knew about each other. They knew, how, where and when they ate, walked, talked; they knew who they knew, what they knew and how they knew what they knew, they knew everything about each other.

Always.

That was the reason this situation was totally outrageous for him.

To not knowing what was happening to Starsky, so whereas now, hurt him even more. However, the bottom line was even more painful, the bottom line was that something was happening indeed, that was the worst thing of all.

"_But what?"_

Hutch had been trying to avoid the feeling since how long? "_One month, two?"_

He had been trying to pretend that nothing was going on, and suddenly, the forcefulness of Dobey's assertion overwhelmed him. The irrefutably of everything had been so final that it dawned on him in a blink of an eye... If Dobey could have been able to warn it, then, something big was happening and worst of all, 'that something' was more major and worse off than he could have ever imagined.

And Hutch was in the dark as he had never been.

He felt like his life had been reduced to that one little syllogism.

Something was definitely not right.

"I don't know Cap'n what's going on, I'll try to talk some sense into Starsky, I promise. I'll try to find him. I'll try to contact Minnie, just in case."

Dobey dismissed Hutch, and as he left his Captain's office, he had a weird sensation, the burning feeling that something had changed inside him, forever. That the situations, he had been so carefully trying to hide even from himself lately had stayed dramatically exposed. Hutch felt completely disassembled. He was at a loss for words, at a loss of thoughts. He could hear his soul started screaming, and he felt scared.

"_But who could help me, if it's not Starsky?"_

* * *

**ACT 3– THE CALL –**

"R&I. Hello"

[Silence.]

"Hello?"

[Silence.]

She sighed, feeling uncomfortable.

"Hey! Who wants to talk?" She insisted for the third time until she heard silence again, and then, breathing coming in gasps that were being remotely expelled.

She frowned.

"Minnie?" the name came barely audible and, above all, unrecognizable.

"Yeah, but, who's this? Who wants to know?" she said.

Nothing.

She didn't hear any sound coming from the other side of the wire, but something made her feel that there wasn't any harm in the man who was talking on the phone. Well, she figured out it was a guy who was talking at the end of the line, it seemed to be a man.

"Hey, talk to me. This is Minnie, yeah! And you better stop breathing in my ear, please?" She smiled nervously trying to ease the moment and kept talking. "Have I told you that I'm done with my share of serial killers for this week?" She heard more intermittent wheezing and frowned. "Come on man, what's going on? Who are you?"

Nothing, again. She stayed for a few minutes listening, but still nothing, so she hung up.

She remained stunned and flustered for some while with her eyes fixed on the telephone.

The phone rang again once, twice, persistently.

She picked it up, roughly, and waited for a voice.

Nothing again, so she answered angrily.

"Oh vey! Look! Not again, man! I'm telling you! Do you know that you've been dumb enough to have called to the Metropolitan Police Headquarters, you jerk? Holy cow! Hello?"

She was getting anxious, but still, nothing. She sighed.

"Who is it?" She stressed every single word, purposely. "You, talk to me! Please?"

Silence again. Until a feeble voice, came out audibly agitated. "Minnie, I can't…" one puff, and then two, "this is Starsky. Hold on a minute, please."

She realized he could barely talk since he was short of breath.

"Starsky? Is that you, gorgeous?" She was hysteric.

"Yeah, it's me, Minnie," He said, defeated.

"Oh boy, what? What happened? What's going on with you?"

No response.

"Starsky!" she cried desperately, "Where are you now? You okay?"

"Oh! I'm okay Minnie," he made a long pause, and she could hear how he tried to catch his breath, so she worried.

"No! You are not! You are far from being okay, baby. Listen to yourself for crying out loud! Where's Hutch? Is he there with you?" She said and didn't wait for his answer to come since she realized he wasn't with Hutch. "Oh, damn! I'm gonna call him right now."

She was frantic at the time, and she was trying to call Hutch's extension from the other phone on her desk. Or dispatch, or whatever it takes or whoever it takes in Headquarters to get to Starsky, wherever he was and help him until she heard him babbling something. "Dammit Minnie, please. Stop, don't - don't call Hutch! Lemme, Oh dammit! I, uh…" he blew, he tried to calm down. "I'm a little - wait!" He coughed.

"My goodness, Starsky you talk! Stop coughing! What's going on? Where are you?"

She was getting impatient.

"Oh, God!" He sounded agitated. "Today's worse than ever…" he said out of the blue, shaking his head, incredulous and reflexively.

"You're making no sense, Starsky! What is it happening? What is worse than ever? Oh no, I'm gonna get to Hutch, and I'm gonna do it now."

"Stop!" He shouted. He was breathing loudly. "I'm a little bit out of breath right now; that's all!" He shook his head; he was tired sick of his situation, "but I'll be okay in a jiffy, see?" He filled his lungs and closed his eyes. "I can even finish one complete sentence right now, you hear?" He tried to lighten up the dark situation although the pain in his chest was almost unbearable. He squeezed his eyes shut again. He cursed. He sighed and wondered what was going on with his lungs, he knew that there was something wrong with them, besides the hot spell and the damn weather and everything else.

He knew that he didn't hurt that much since Gunther.

"Starsky! You really are mean! You're a trashy boy! You better tell me what's going on with you and where the hell you are, or you'll regret this phone call for the rest of your lifetime! Believe me! Wherever you are, I'm gonna send the cavalry to your rescue! Trust me, you know I'll do it. Right now Prince Charming don't tell me that you are in trouble, please?"

"Oh yeah. I pretty much figure it all out, but...'m just here at the precinct, Minnie. Interrogation Room 4 and I'm _not_ in trouble." He said calmer and regained his breath.

"You kidding me? That's two stories below!? What the hell's going on and what are you doing down there and sounding like you were breathing in an airtight room, handsome?" she asked him indignantly.

"Well, I feel like I'm breathing in an airtight room, honey," He smiled, "but Minnie, calm down. I'm trying to tell you so… Humor me, please? Gimme a break! If you insist on interrupting me every time I try to talk, you'll never know." He attempted to make her reason. "I uh, I guess that I'm coming down with something, maybe the flu or a... a severe cold, something. I... I don't know."

"Really? And how long are you feeling sick, little sunshine? I haven't seen you in a month, I guess."

"Well, a couple of days, couple weeks, maybe? I don't know exactly, but I feel like today's the worst day of all. That's what I'm trying to tell you. The worst, of all of them." He sighed, "The worst day of my life, indeed, even during Gunther I wasn't feeling this sick, really Minnie. I feel like shit."

"Oh No! My poor baby! So you should go home! Go and tell Dobey. What can it be? You know, there's a bug around Headquarters that already brought down two fellow officers here in R&I? They are hospitalized on sick leave since last Monday, and it seemed like they ain't healed yet. Patterson and Gable, do you know 'em?"

Starsky wondered in silence if that could be what maybe happened to him, but he didn't know the men she was telling him about.

"Do you think that it would be the same bug or something like that what's going on with me?" he asked hopefully.

"Perhaps, I don't know. You should go and see a doctor" She said while playing with her ballpoint.

He shrugged.

"Yeah, maybe. But I don't know. Patterson and Gable?" He asked while thinking, "I don't think that I know them. Are they hospitalized? I mean, that bad actually? Two weeks?" He sighed, "I don't know what it is or what it could be or if this is the same bug, but...I'm sure as hell that it hurts bad, Minnie. I mean, yeah, I should better go and see a doctor, indeed." he said bluntly.

"Of course you have to. But for now, why don't you go and see Cheryl? You can go and see her instead of waiting. She can give you some medicines to take, I had just run into her a couple of minutes ago; she's still here in the Lab." she said solicitously.

"Nah… I decided that I should better call Sam Ressler. Do you know him? The shrink who helps us with Parry's case?" he answered.

She nodded "Of course I know that sheyn of a Doctor." she smiled at the vision of the attractive man.

"Oh yeah! That's him." Starsky shook his head, (sheyn means handsome in Yiddish, and he loved when someone used his ancestors' language; reminded him of his grandma). "Yeah, I think that I'm gonna call him right now; maybe he can recommend me someone or gimme something to this coughing… I don't know." Starsky shook his head; this was the third week in a row he was feeling like crap and he couldn't grasp the reason. He'd been acting weird even with Hutch to hide his discomfort from him, but he knew that he hadn't much time left. Starsky knew that his partner was suspicious and that he couldn't disguise anything anymore, so sooner or later, he knew, he should go and see a doctor.

He was thinking since Saturday night, that maybe he should have already called Dr. Goodman at Memorial, the doctor who treated him after Gunther, so he told Minnie. "Or… or perhaps, lately I've just been thinking that I'd better go and see Bob Goodman at Memorial, again. He knows me and all my story" He made a face.

"Whoever! But you have to do something with that coughing. You ought to take care of yourself, Starsky, especially after all the damage your lungs have sustained, and you've been through." She made a long pause and shrugged. She took her breath and asked. "Does Hutch know you are feeling this sick?"

"Nope…," he smiled like a little child. "I'm hidden from him right now, indeed." He made a face and rolled his eyes. "Same thing happened to me in the morning, and I thought that the man would collapse. You know him! I've already given him enough trouble; he's scared, and he worries for nothing, and I better save him until this passes."

"You're both terrible Starsky. But you better disappear if you want to conceal something from him!" she reasoned.

"Whaddaya mean? Yeah, that would be the only way possible. But you don't want me to disappear, do you?" he mocked her.

"No! Besides, where will you go? But your hiding should go that far if you want to be successful. Otherwise, that big blond of your partner would find out what's happening to you. You know you can't hide anything from him, you ain't capable."

"Well, I've got my ways," he said cunningly.

She smiled, "Oh, you sure have! Anyway, I don't get it, why are you having this conversation with me instead of him? He's your better half, isn't he? This chatty you are... It doesn't sound too good to me."

He sighed, bored about everything.

"Well, I need you to help me," he said straightforward.

"I thought that your health's issues were Hutch's affair exclusively," she stated in a very reflexive way.

"Not with my health problems! The case, the investigation, Minnie. That's what I need from you, not to take care of me." He said firmly and tried to forget the whole topic of conversation.

"Oh, how sad, what a pity!" She pouted, "I thought that you wanted me to go to your place and take care of you, hottie. I can make a great Chicken Soup, and I'm an expert in putting the thermometer too… Well, I do other things pretty good, of course" She said, playing along.

"Anytime." He offered to his friend, "But no. You're right about my health, it's just Hutch's, so… nope. I have no way out of him, Minnie! And that's why I wouldn't tell him how I feel until we finish the investigation, okay? You know he could be a mother hen sometimes, and well, we're this close to Parry. I won't ruin that with my weak lungs, besides, I think that Hutch just needs a little time out, too. He's tired of me!"

"Oh, that's not true, and you know it! He could never get tired of you, Starsky" She said suspiciously.

"Well, yeah. I know. Maybe I'm the one who's tired of myself, yeah… That's more like it!" He laughed. "Anyway, Minnie, I can make an appointment with the doctor anytime, and I don't need him for that. I mean I'm a grown-up man who can handle his '_health issues' _alone without bothering my friend and whether Hutch likes it or not, I want him out of this, this time. I want to spare him, you dig?" He winked his eye as if Minnie could see him through the wire though his intention was crystal clear. He waited for a few seconds before continued saying. "You know how long it took him to recover from Gunther, so it's no good to keep him worried right now. I won't. Finished, Okay? Let's talk about this wacko. By the way, what do you think about Parry, honey?" He changed the subject of the conversation stressing the word you.

"Oh! No, no, no,! You won't set me up this time like you always did, Sergeant. No! Now, I've been upgraded from that rookie lady cop I used to be at the time that model paid for her contract. Before you change the subject so lightly and start talking about the goddamned job, I wanna know, right now, what is the reason I heard you winded. And what's happened to you before, in the morning, which had got your partner so skittish? I want you to be more precise. Come on, you won't get rid of me. You just tell me!"

He snorted, tired of everybody's concerns about his health.

He didn't feel like talking about those things anymore. Since the shooting four years ago, everybody was obsessed with his health. At least, that was the way he felt.

He felt that everybody thought that they had the right to ask questions and make decisions on his behalf, concerning his life. Everybody thought that they had the right to give him advice, to forbid him in doing certain things and suggest him doing others.

He was tired of being always on everyone's lips, in each agenda of each meeting of the Board of Directors of his Life.

So he felt.

That his damn health was an issue that ought to be addressed. That the entire Police Department had a saying about what he should do or what he should not do.

What he should eat or what he should not eat. If he was up to a case or if he wasn't, if he could go undercover or if he couldn't.

Everything.

Even if he could attend or not to the Annual Department's Picnic to play football and yadda yadda yadda, everything was a topic of discussion.

His life appeared to be a debate, and everybody thought that they had the right to be the moderator. He hated that.

Sometimes he felt as if he was the Precinct's pet.

"_The miracle man!"_, He thought. And he was tiresome of that fact.

He was tired of feeling as if he were the bearded woman from a circus sideshow.

After Gunther, he had not yet been able to consider himself a man, again.

He felt like a fucking Disney's attraction.

The concerns of all humanity were a reminder of what had happened to him, of what he had lost. Because, even though he had been able to get back to the streets, he knew he was different. He felt different. And he had lost a lot.

He knew that it was a one-way road and that there wouldn't ever be a return.

However, he also knew that people's insistence was because they loved him.

Hutch especially.

That's why he wanted to avoid him any more worries, and that's why he granted Minnie, yet again, another explanation of what had happened, so far.

About how he was feeling.

About the reason, he couldn't catch his breath.

Telling her the truth, perhaps, he could get rid of her umpteenth intent of an examination. In telling the truth and what had happened, without concealing, maybe, he could preserve Hutch... that's what he thought.

"Okay, you listen," He took a gulp of air and started telling the woman what had happened. "I burst out of Dobey's office. I was shouting at him, and he was yelling at me, you know the dynamics. We were both flustered." He made a pause, and he caught his breath. "I wanted to go to your Office, so I took the stairs and suddenly I found myself breathless and very dizzy. I guessed I stood up faster than should have, or perhaps, climbed the stairs faster. I mean I didn't have breakfast, I don't know. The truth is that I thought that I would pass out right there in the middle of the hallway; I won't lie to you." He shook his head and smiled. "You believe me? And that same thing happened to me in the morning. That was what Hutch had seen."

"And you don't think to do anything about it?" she asked him, concernedly.

Another break and he went on, "Oh yeah. I'll do. Before I called you, I felt like hell. I mean, this time It was even worse than in the morning. I felt a sharp pain in the chest, and I got scared, Minnie. At first, I thought of yelling Hutch's name, but then I remembered his face today in the morning when the same thing happened, so I sought refuge in this empty room in which I am now. And I called you, damn! I thought I would have had a heart attack, right here, honey, it hurt". He made a pause and continued. "So I stayed here, to catch my breath. Then, since I started feeling well again, I decided that it would be better to ask you this favor by the phone first while I rested a bit and finished recovering. Thought that you'd have enough time to prepare the things that I'm requesting until I take the elevator to get to see you, sweetie, okay? Without taking stairs at all, I mean. You see? Nothing's wrong just now, only I'm saving our time so we can make a little petting when I get over there. In the meantime, you can find the files I'm asking you for, and I can recover my breathing. That clear enough?" Another faint smile intended.

"Mhm, well, maybe. But where's the doctor part? I mean, that's all? Still, don't like it. I want you to go and see a doctor, beautiful boy. Soon. I want to know what's happening. That fainting thing you've been describing to me... I don't like it; it's nothing but normal so far, isn't it, Starsky? Okay?" she reprimanded him motherly.

"Okay, I will, 'm gonna call Sam right now," he said like a little boy, visibly annoyed.

"You promise?" She opened her big brown eyes.

"I promise." He nodded.

"Otherwise, I'm gonna tell daddy Hutch, okay?"

They both laughed while she said menacing, and lovingly those words and he felt so comforted at such a display of love.

"Yeah, and that would be fatal!" he rolled his eyes.

"Oh Yeah, I would say that it would be terminal," she said funnily.

They both smiled again. At that time, Starsky sounded better and even more anxious and focused on the case. He wanted to get to the core of the investigation, and soon. So he said. "Well Minnie, back to our…"

She interrupted him again and added. "I knew," Starsky opened his eyes as she continued. "I knew that there weren't more than these annoying _'Police's matters'_ to our relationship. You and your workaholic spirit, Starsky! I guess that this is just another boring business call, I mean, there wouldn't ever be anything personal between you and me, hunk? Never?" She said pretending to sound annoyed.

He laughed; he loved this kind of games that he played with Minnie. "Hey, you have always been understanding, my little anime. You want me to ask you out just now that I'm feeling this sick? What's the deal now? " He played along, and she granted, besides she also loved teasing this man.

"Oh man. Oh, man! The fact is I won't credit any saying about you in the future until the moment you do to me those precious little things some girls here in the Precinct say you are capable of doing… At least! Or do you want me to think that that is just gossip? I need evidence Starsky, you dig?" She smiled and sighed "I thought that one day, one day my dear officer, you were gonna invite me out, handsome!" she said.

"Someday, maybe." He said slowly and intrigued since he didn't want to be rude.

"Oh, how disappointing," she said pretending to be disillusioned. "Now that I know that you ain't dying or threatened by a serial killer who has kidnapped you, I can openly curse! You know? Many times I've planned what to tell you, how to reject you in case you tried to date me, eventually. I thought today it would be that day, at last. But seems that it won't ever happen."

"Oh yeah…? Do you wanna reject me? And what would you like to tell me, to make me feel rejected, uh? What these things would be? " Starsky said playing the game.

"Well, something like" she changed her voice trying to impersonate Marilyn Monroe, sort of, breaking it breathlessly sexy. "'_I'd rather go for beautiful blonds than for irresistibly sexy and macho brunets like you.'_ How's that? Do you like it? Yeah… That one's good, it would be something like that, my little sweet revenge. I want to punish you for all the time you've made me wait in vain." She smiled at her antics, and he reciprocated even though he stayed silent, so she continued… "But you neither invited me nor gave me the satisfaction, honey! Seems that I was never gonna play my '_Some Like It Hot'_ act with the two of you. Never! Well, I guess I ain't even a blonde myself!"

They were like two kids, Minnie and him, and they liked to play games.

She felt like this was her way of being near and be special for him. She had a kind of a big crush on the brunet since the first time that she had met him when she arrived Metro all those years ago. Above all, she enjoyed his company every time he was around. She didn't love him; he was her fantasy; something about Starsky was so alluring that she couldn't help but feel drawn to the man. Good vibes maybe, sort of but they always had such a good time together that she just adored joking with him, and so did he. Yeah, she wasn't in love with Starsky, but she certainly had a special spot for him in her heart.

"Starsky, likewise, you could be my Lemmon anytime, you know that." she finished saying.

"Lemmon? Naw, I rather go by Curtis I guess, Minnie," he chuckled.

"Curtis?" She giggled. "Damned you Starsky, you have me all excited here! And looks like I'm gonna stay with this longing forever."

"Well, forever's a helluva lot of time," he said pensively.

"Oh yeah, I guess it is!" She sighed. "So this is it?" she asked him.

He chuckled and shrugged. "Pretty much yeah. I guess this is it! I'm sorry Minnie, but I grew so fond of you that I don't wanna hurt your feelings. Besides, I'm sure that I'm not up to anything permanent at the moment" He laughed again, he thought Minnie could be lovely.

"Such a pity, boy!" She smiled.

"Oh, I'm sorry, babe!"

"Starsky, sugar plum! You don't need to be so apologetical! I love you despite the fact that I know that ours is never meant to be," she said mockingly.

"Never never say, Minnie," he said scoffingly. "Never's a helluva lot of time, too."

"You are trashy! I mean it's obvious I'm not your style; you go for the _'classier'_ girls. Well, except for supercilious Meredith lady-cop. But I don't wanna remember that '_incident'_ neither her, by the way."

He smiled, and she stopped the banter. His laughter derived into a sigh of nostalgia, one silence, and a pause until she cracked the silence again, and the truth reappeared, masqueraded in the foolish roguery.

"Hey, big guy, are you feeling better? Seems to me that you feel better than before, don't you?" She ended saying motherly.

"Oh yeah, Minnie, I am. Thanks for the distraction. I mean it! Much better! Thanks to you."

She smiled; he was a very sweet man. "That's what I like to hear. You're welcome. So stop this bullshit, okay? And let's keep this purely professional. What do you need me for, detective?" She changed her tone almost instantly.

"Yeah, strictly professional! Listen, what I need is Parry's entire file, the new ones I had requested from Folsom. All the information you can get related to Wales. Your forgiveness and a big big hug. In that order, sweetheart, I'm a little cuddly lately."

She checked all the items he had described, mentally, and decided to emphasize in the two last of the list.

Hugs and cuddles seemed to sound awfully good when it came to Starsky.

"I'm always here Starsky, and you can count on me, like always, you dig?" She sighed and recollected her feelings. She felt that he was the most kindhearted man she had ever met, so she finished saying. "And stop asking for my forgiveness whatever it is you need, you come and take it. It's all here darling!" She said, purposely stretching the word "all."

"Thanks, Minnie. I know."

"Hey, I really like you, boy, and I'll never let you down; I can give you ev-ery-thing you request. You name it, okay?"

More giggles were listened from both sides of the line though he didn't know if she was joking or she wasn't; a deep pause stayed on the wire, and they both remained silent.

She realized that he wasn't going to give another hint either, that he wouldn't tell anything else about what was nagging him although she felt that he was hiding something, that something had happened. She didn't insist.

"So you come up and take it? Or you want me to get down there and give it to you?" she said even more sexily, sweet, and naughty than before.

"Minnie... Whaddaya mean?!" Starsky played along and said amusingly, surprised and intrigued.

"Oh, Lord, I mean the files, Starsssky, and the other stuff too, oh and about the cuddles… They're always available for you here, anytime, anywhere, cutie pie. My treat,"

"_Sweetheart, I was born when you kissed me. I died when you left me. I lived a few weeks while you loved me_," he said impersonating Boggart himself. "Like I said, ours is not possible because you're that amazing I'm afraid that if I have you, honey, I'll die the day I lose you…" Her giggles were so loud, she barely heard him. "But thank you for the cuddles!" He continued, "Just, gimme a minute, okay? I'll go 'n get them and… Minnie?" now he sounded dangerous, "This entire indisposition, you know? Just between you and me, okay?"

"My part of the deal. You honor yours and then you can count on that, hottie, my pleasure."

She filled her lungs and tried to remember.

"_Which was this idiom that my mother used to say when I was a teenager and had my first crush on 'little Joe.'"_ She thought carefully. "_Yeah, 'a sigh is the spare air you have in excess because of someone you lack, honey.'" _

That's what her mother loved to say. She smiled at the memory.

Oh yeah, that fit her feelings! How much she loved this gorgeous man!

"Thanks," He said, gently and pensive. And he put the receiver in its cradle too.

These moments of tiny joy so priceless, so scarce, he had decided to hoard.

He didn't know why he was so filled with nostalgia lately.

He wondered why that strange feeling was invading his head and conquering all of him, he should find out, but then, he thought there would be enough time later, "_wouldn't be?". _ So he decided to make yet another phone call better before going upstairs to get to Minnie's.

"Sam, this is Starsky."

* * *

**ACT 4 –WE DON'T NEED ANOTHER HERO-**

"Yeah, yeah. Okay. Relax pal. Calm down. That's terrible but; you're not the only one responsible. Come on!" Sam was trying to give Starsky some solace and comfort. He had just heard his litany; he had just heard the utterly wretched sounds that flowed from each one of the words that Starsky had been uttering for the past five endless minutes.

He had perceived how distraught the man felt, and the destructive feeling that he was feeling became even more eloquent through his silences. Sam knew that something was going down with Starsky and soon, - he ought to be patient - he was going to find out what it was, so he tried to soothe him. "You don't have to take all the blame for everything that happens in this goddamned city, Starsky!" He said attempting to convince the cop.

"I _am_ responsible!" Starsky assured.

"_Pointless,"_ the doctor thought and frowned.

"I am responsible just like everybody else here is", he continued saying "even more than everybody else here is, Sam. I'm the one who has to be blamed. Parry's my case; this is my investigation, and I have failed, consistently, since the very first beginning." The curly-haired man sounded discouraged and gloomy.

"For Christ's sake! Neither you have failed, nor you have the need to be so picky about you. You're not that powerful in case you haven't noticed, buddy!" The doctor wanted Starsky to react, he wanted Starsky to say something about what was really bothering him, but he hadn't heard anything so far.

"Sam, you won't convince me otherwise. It's all my fault; I should have…"

Ressler cut him short, almost shouting.

"Come on, shut up and be reasonable, man! You don't decide the sun rises or the rain's falls. Neither what happened with Parry nor his sick behavior, for that matter, is your fault! The way you're saying it seems like you're responsible for every wrong damn thing that's happening in Bay City!" The doctor said, flustered and increased the voice.

From the other side of the line, he could hear Starsky, who was intently listening and agitated, still dumb, though.

Hence, Sam continued talking.

"Someone's said that there's a luxury in the self-reproach because when we blame ourselves, we feel, no one else has the right to do it. You knew that? You listen? Can you listen to anyone else but your own voice?"

The doctor stopped talking, suddenly.

He tried to make the words sank; he sought to force a reaction, a response that didn't appear. He attempted that Starsky could comprehend the real meaning of the words he was choosing; hoping that Starsky would react and would realize, that he wasn't the only one to blame. Nevertheless his efforts, on return, Sam felt like he was giving a barricade's speech or a standup monolog to his one single bystander deaf audience. However, he could not stop, he didn't want to do it either.

So he didn't.

"It seems that you're running a race, buddy. Against what? You? Your partnership? The killer? The time? You think that you're the only one responsible for everything that's going on out there? And because of that, you ban yourself from the real world, and you choose to live in an ideal society where you only '_exist'_ IF you're invincible or flawless? I can tell you now, that I, even we, - and I'm speaking on Hutch's behalf here and Dobey and everybody else -, that we don't fit into that project, buddy. We certainly, don't have any place in that parallel and secluded world of yours, Starsky. And because of it, either we're gonna take part in your self-destruction."

Starsky shook his head, annoyed but still kept silent.

He felt like he was being challenged, and yet couldn't find the words to express what actually is happening to him, although he couldn't believe his ears either. What Sam was talking about was unexpected, to say the least, and after a few minutes, he responded defensively and with extreme irony.

"Hey man, don't play the psychiatrist with me! I'm your friend, and I'm really down, I feel like crap about all this, I…" He hesitated for a few moments, and then regained his strength and ended saying, "I feel like crap. Period."

Sam listened intently to his friend's angry words.

The real meaning he was trying to say.

He knew that there was something hidden in his words, but he didn't get it. "_Maybe someone had hurt Starsky, or perhaps he had hurt someone",_ the doctor thought and didn't know. The fact was that his friend felt as if he was responsible for handling all the misfortunes out there and It was too much a burden to carry on.

"Okay, and what are you trying to imply, buddy? You better tell me the truth. Whaddaya mean you feel like shit?" The doctor made a short pause, analyzed his options. He discarded the worst of them, chose and concluded, sure. "You listen to me, I ain't gonna root for your self-pity either, man. I mean, you can be wrong Starsky, you can fail, and you have to accept it. That is human!" He said reflexively.

"Maybe seems to me but I feel like we ain't making any sense of this conversation," Starsky said perturbed and reflexively.

"Starsky, what we're talking here's crystal clear. All of us make mistakes in our lives. Everybody has made decisions or committed actions that, somehow, have regretted. That's the price all of us have to pay. We've made unfortunate errors in judgment, and because of that, we could have caused even harm to other people. But you're a cop, only a cop. You brave your life every day when you go out there to save the world; you are brave and tough and strong but, believe me, just a cop. A mere man. You are not a saint; you are not a martyr though sometimes you can be a hero… but it's too much a burden being a hero all the time, you got it?."

Starsky was silent. He was just listening to Sam words, which were so profound and heartfelt. Sam was talking from his soul to a patient, who happened to be one of his best friends indeed.

It had been some time since the doctor had realized that Starsky was on the edge, walking on the ledge.

Hutch, also knew. They all knew.

They had already talked about it sometimes, a few days before that day. Sam had realized that Starsky needed help. That his sense of self-blame at the blunders he would have made in the past or the damage he would have caused made him feel in terms of an inadequate or flawed person.

That was Starsky.

White or Black.

Right or Wrong.

His self-confidence and aplomb made him extremely demanding sometimes. But that was the way he was. Starsky felt that he should wallow in his guilt for not having found the killer; that nobody understood him, not even Hutch and that he had no right to be happy, lately. Somehow, he even regretted having done the call.

Hutch and Sam had been worried about it, and they had already talked about this, since they believed in their friend, in Starsky's worth.

They needed him; they missed him. Hutch especially.

But Sam realized that his friend was fighting a fruitless battle against his own human limitations.

And that he was going to lose.

"Starsky, buddy, please? You should be more compassionate with yourself. You have to change your self-blame for awareness; the awareness that will let you avoid repeating the same mistakes you've already made in the future in case you had made them. You have to accept your past, your wrongs and learn from those experiences in the future and the past regrets; grieve if you need it to, I mean why not? But you don't have to go through this paralyzing situation that would leave you nowhere near good and probably hurt."

Starsky chuckled with his eyes full of tears "_as if it would be that easy,"_ he thought.

Sam was angry and sad and worried but kept saying.

"You have to forgive yourself since everyone makes mistakes and that doesn't make you the most dangerous man or the worst of the detectives." He rose his voice and Starsky shook his head… "It's not good being a perfectionist, man. Move on!"

"Move on?" Starsky said exasperatedly. "Where? What for? I don't believe you. You mean that people dying are just mistakes? I'm fed up of my life being inhabited by those "_wrongs"_ and isolated moments that everybody calls "_mistakes."_ I refuse to call them that way. I don't buy the 'Line of Duty' theory either. You're the one who's in denial! I did wrong actually! I did wrong because I couldn't. I really can't. I'm tired to try and try and always come back empty. I feel sorry." …he waited for a few seconds to collect his feelings "Oh, come on Sam, I've already bought "Your Erroneous Zones" don't Wayne Dyer-me. I think that Dobey's right! You and your stupid riddles."

"Don't be sarcastic, please? It's your health, your mental state we're discussing here and talking about buddy, not a best seller."

There was an awkward and uneasy silence between the two men until Starsky broke the silence again. After a moment, his defenses had failed, and Sam could tell that by his tone.

"I'm sorry, I don't feel like being sarcastic… looks like I always end up hurting everybody I love lately..." he made a pause and Sam realized he had surrendered, so he took the opportunity to redouble the attack.

"Buddy, you called me. You needed to talk to me and vent. I let you do it, and now you're gonna listen to me. Stop this guilt trip, or you'll be caught in the middle. Kandalevsky's death is not your fault. It's Parry's fault if any."

"Oh man, yeah…" Starsky sounded dejected. "I'm sorry. You know, I'd like to be like that, and sit here and blame everybody else for my trouble, but I'm telling you I can't do that. I just can't find it in myself. I can't accept it" he said ruefully and genuinely concerned.

"So you decided to blame even gravity for falling in love… uh? Sometimes there isn't any guilty party, okay, _Detective_?", he stressed the last word in syllables and shook his head. "But listen, buddy, it doesn't matter anymore. I don't feel like rebuking you right now. The most important thing is that you have called and you wanna talk to me at last. It's been a long time since we were waiting for this to happen, and I feel relieved that it did. So let's take it one thing at the time, okay? We can go step by step. I knew that something was going on inside you, that something was bugging you, I could feel it. Hutch could feel it too. Everybody could feel it. Hutch was very anxious and concerned about you; he seemed to feel that he didn't have his ways with you anymore, sadly. He talked to me a few days ago and he, we, decided that it should be you the one who come asking for help. But you kept on avoiding us, shutting us down, for that matter. You did it consistently during the past days, buddy; walking away from us; isolated yourself more and more" he said complaining. "It had all started out slowly after Sagay's murder. You threw us all out of your life, without letting us the necessary space to try to make you understand who you are, who we are… And especially, that that fucking motto that obsesses you 'To protect and to serve' includes YOU, man… And YOU also deserve, like everybody else here, to be protected" he said metaphorically.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Trust me, I don't wanna get rid of anybody!" Starsky sighed defeatedly, "Second time in a row this... Oh, Damn! I heard this before"; he grimaced "that's what Hutch keeps on telling me lately. I feel like there's a bloody conspiracy against me". He chuckled and took a deep breath.

"There isn't, buddy. The only one who's conspiring against himself is you!" Sam said lovingly, and Starsky giggled.

"Yeah, I pretty much know it, that's not it, I know, but believe me, Sam, I don't wanna hurt anyone neither makes anyone feel worried, especially Hutch. I know I'm obsessed with Parry, but I think maybe there's more to my state than that... To this current craze, you know? Do you understand? I don't know."

Starsky stopped.

He was confused and at a loss for words. Lately, he couldn't find them. He knew, he felt that something was going on, but he couldn't realize what it would be since his boundaries were very diffuse. He tried again. "That's why I needed to talk to you, buddy, and as soon as possible, besides Parry and everything else. I can't explain it. I have this feeling… I can't keep on bothering Hutch either, and I know that I can't take it anymore!"

"Well, the hell you did it, Starsky! Thank God, you finally called, and you finally talked! You took a lot of time anyway. You _are_ stubborn!" Sam chuckled "I'm happy you need to speak, sort things out."

"Yeah, I've been worried lately… lots of things, I - It's… too much pressure!" Starsky said confusedly.

"Hey, Jude… don't make it bad. Don't carry the world upon your shoulders, uh?" The doc wink and said quoting one of the most beautiful songs of the Beatles ever. "No hero can take it all alone, buddy, and attempt to survive..." the doctor raised his eyebrows.

"Nah, I ain't no hero, Sam." Starsky sighed, "I ain't carrying anything on my shoulders actually. I'm sure that's not it…" He sounded so sad, taken aback, "Rather I - I just..." he sighed.

"What? You tell me, buddy, what's going on?" Sam asked him, confused.

"I - I think that I ain't feeling so swell lately, you know…" He immediately regretted and made a face. "That's all."

Sam frowned; this was an unexpected outcome.

He was a doctor, a psychiatric; he knew he had to listen first. Make conclusions, after.

Anticipated outcomes, never.

"_What was Starsky saying?" _He should dismiss any assumptions. He couldn't deal with preconceptions, so he said. "Well, and your sanity happens to be my damn business, so it's a significant step that you didn't try to convince me otherwise. I can understand you beyond the words you're using, pal, and you look very decayed, and I don't want you to get sick because of this, my call Starsky. Maybe you're experiencing an anxiety disorder due to work overload. I don't know, I can't make a proper diagnose by the phone, we have to talk it out personally, but the way I see it… Maybe you just have to take it slow; that's the remedy."

Starsky chuckled, "_take it slow? To relax? Those foreign feelings,_" he thought.

It was really very improbable that he could betray his nature. But he decided to say nothing, besides, Sam was talking about a different kind of illness.

The doctor kept saying to a dumb man. "I know that you're the most kind-hearted person I've ever met, Starsky, but please buddy... Take care of yourself, will you? At this rate, if you keep on blaming and tormenting yourself you're bound to come to a wrong end, you hear?" The doctor said softly, and then when nothing but silence came over the wire again he hardened the voice speaking more seriously, "Well, this conversation is at its starting point today, pal, and I'm talking as a physician here, okay?"

Starsky smiled, relieved that the doctor's investigation had ended, but at the same time he felt secure and satisfied, and softly he answered, "Okay, I know."

"I have to go now; 'm gonna check on my last two patients, and then I'll be there at Metro as soon as I can, promise."

"You promise?" Starsky smiled, surprised.

"Yes, I do. I promise, pal. And we're gonna talk long and positively."

"Positively, okay. Thanks."

Starsky smiled, he sighed, a deep sigh and a profound kind of relief crossed his body.

He had talked.

Finally.

He couldn't face Hutch, and he didn't know why, but at least he had talked to Sam, and he was sure that he was going to help him. Maybe the Doc could sort things out and stop this roller coaster of pain, sadness, and anguish his life had become and blew out his premonition away. He filled his lungs, relieved, and felt the content, "_Yeah, I'm just tired, maybe everything's gonna get better," _he thought.

Starsky put his hand on the switch hook and the dial tone disappeared… after a while, it was reestablished at the same time that Sam hung up the call.

He decided to stay put a little, listening to the monotone beep.

It reminded him of a flat line.

He wondered if he would tell Sam the truth if he would be able to tell Sam what was happening.

He wondered if he would be able to find in him the truth about what was actually happening to him, of what was going on and he didn't know yet, indeed.

He felt weird.

Also, he felt sick like he always did lately. And gloomy and tired.

Later on, he'd see.

For now, it was time to get to Minnie's.

There still was a killer out there, and he needed to get him caught.

"Promises, promises, promises. Best friends don't have to promise." Starsky repeated to himself aloud, as he stood before going upstairs to Minnie's Office.

And he remembered, fondly.

He was thinking of Terry a lot much, lately.

* * *

**ACT 5 – SAM -**

_"We cannot tell the precise moment when friendship is formed. As in filling a vessel drop by drop, there is, at last, a drop which makes it run over; so in a series of kindnesses there is at last one which makes the heart run over." _

Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451.

Doctor Samuel "Sam" Ressler, is the psychiatrist who had treated Mad Parry during his detention at Cabrillo State.

After David Sommer's murder, more than one year ago, the doctor had gone to the Police Department since he felt that Parry had been responsible for that assassination. The extensive treatment that Dr. Ressler had supplied to the man before he was released from prison had been sufficient evidence of his troubled psyche, of his hunger for vengeance and the doctor was aware that he was going to kill again.

He knew that David Neuman, who was the brilliant medical student that Parry had killed fifteen years ago and for whom he had been imprisoned for, wouldn't be the only one.

That he hadn't been the only one.

Neither he was going to be the last.

The day the first attack occurred when David Sommer was killed and the doctor went to Metro, he recalled not only the murder of Neuman but also various other facts that crowned a frantic race that led Parry to a road of death and destruction. A path that the doctor felt, his former patient, was more than willing to go back to walk in the years ahead.

He thought that they were witnessing the starting point of that road.

He was sure that the evil man had even the impunity to do it because there weren't any photographic records or images of him; there wasn't any testimony about his face, his voice or anything else... let alone his frenzied race to horror since Mad Parry only lived in the vague memories of nurses and orderlies at Cabrillo and Folsom and in Ressler's own. So to speak, the devil was just a mere sketched face.

For everyone. There wasn't any single shot.

His perfect cover which turned out to be the killer's advantage.

Upon his release, a fire consumed all the documents that were archived at Cabrillo. Even the films that had been shot as standard practice during the therapy sessions had been destroyed.

Ressler thought that his former patient had planned to make them disappear meticulously but there weren't any proofs against him.

Folsom's Penitentiary had been vandalized too, unfortunately, and with that, every vestige of Parry's story also had disappeared.

The destruction had never been reputed as intentional or as an arsonist's act. Anyway, the fact that both incidents happened contemporaneously, made the whole scenario suspiciously alike.

At least for Ressler.

Although someone else had just found them merely coincidental.

Sam Ressler had gone to Headquarters to tell the Police that he had sufficient pieces of evidence to charge his former patient as the author of the manslaughter. For him, Sommers had triggered his instincts and was going to be the stem cell, the first victim of one second batch of killings so he decided to warn them.

He told them that a few years before, in May 1979 he had discouraged Mad Parry's medical discharge, even though he had served his previous sentence because he was concerned about Madoc's mental state. However, the bureaucracy and the intricate legal system, full of loopholes, full of dull lawyers and corrupt judges and officials, seemed not to admonish of the danger posed by his release and they released him no matter the certainty that he had.

"Mad," although he wasn't legally or medically insane, was going to kill again sooner or later, he already knew that and he did nothing about it.

The doctor felt guilty.

So, when that first attack happened, on March, 1st 1982 on St. David's day, regardless his medical confidentiality, the doctor felt so stunned by the news and responsible that he went to the station to get help and help the Police to find him; he wanted to cooperate with the officers and try to stop him. The shrink knew and, he acknowledged, the mark of the Welsh.

His traces had been left in every inch of the victim's broken body.

Madoc "Mad" Parry, the man without a face.

He was a mystery.

Ressler said that the man was the evil, a demonic creature.

A man who was devoided of empathy, of any feelings or compassion, who paid little attention to the consequences of his actions.

Ressler could say lots of things about him, Madoc Parry was his karma.

From a medical point of view, he was a psychotic who blended in the society like a sadistic predator to select his victims through a pattern that he had not been able to decipher yet.

But still, with a pattern, they all knew...

And like any other psychotic he was not crazy, either insane; Parry knew damn well what to do to hurt people, and he enjoyed it. His motto was "To hurt people who hurt me, " and he played along with his character. As far as Sam Ressler was concerned, he was an emotionless and brutal serial killer who couldn't harbor regrets nor guilt or remorse and had recurrent and very intense sexual fantasies with his usually non-consenting and not so randomly selected victims though that was the way it appeared to be. A violent and perverse man who hunted and stalked his prey with no mercy.

A murderer who liked to inflict psychological or physical damage, pain, humiliation and even death itself to his picked martyrs.

Even though he was still a virgin, his sexual fantasies transported him to other realities in which he was powerful and flawless, nevertheless, his primal dissatisfaction was strictly linked to the fact that he couldn't get his ultimate desire, what really mattered to him which was his father's acceptance.

To get that, he did whatever it took, even killed. It was the persistent lack of his father's approval which drove him into a self-destruction circle that inflicted pain on himself, and mostly on his object of desire, so dramatically.

He just wanted to punish everyone and get revenge.

He was an unhappy, unfulfilled, and misunderstood man and, above all, he felt not loved, abandoned and alone.

He hated his father and all parental figure he met.

But he was not crazy.

He was just bad.

Madoc Parry had been born in Swansea, Wales, on March 11, 1943, and at his three years, he was carried by his parents to America. They first settled in New York and a year later he moved to the west coast, to Sacramento. He was the only son of a very strict, very unloving Methodist Minister, who hit him, whipped him and humiliated him in front of everybody else constantly and with no regrets. His mother came from a wealthy and a renowned family and his father enjoyed that situation. Unfortunately, the woman died when little Madoc was only eight years old, leaving behind just her money.

That was only what she had left the kid.

Money.

Lots of it.

Brilliant at school; he was very intelligent and of a keen sensitivity that related him to the Fine Arts, in any of its forms; yet, he was discouraged by his father who was obsessed with his obvious mannered ways which were always a source of embarrassment to Reverend David Parry, who despised Madoc for his condition and never accepted his sensibility.

Worse, he never accepted being his father because of that, and even worst of all he never recognized him. During Primary and Secondary School, he was always in the shadow of his cousin, Lewellyn, whom his father admired and who inherited all the reverend's personal belongings after he retired from the Ministry. His cousin was a great sportsman and a tough guy too who had followed Madoc's father's steps with his consent. Following High School, he entered the University Of Los Angeles, School Of Medicine since he had an obsession with suffering, pain, and agony of the human body.

Suffering and pain; though soon it dawned on him that his obsession had more in common to the fact that he liked to inflict pain on people than to prevent it from happening. He spent a seemingly ordinary student's life until his strong inclination to solitude and isolation took him away from the Faculty career.

Further and further, from the University.

Further and further, from society indeed.

He had started his mad race against death after being raped in prison at age 21.

And still, he could not stop.

He hated the man who had put him in jail in 1964.

And he wanted him to pay.

Since that first day when Sam was watching the Breaking News and went to the Station to tell the tale of Parry, he had hit it off with Starsky and Hutch instantly.

The duo was Captain Dobey's most valuable team in the Homicide Division of the Bay City Metropolitan Police Department and the Detectives in charge of the investigation.

Through the months, their friendship grew bigger and bigger.

They shared many moments of fun, getting around the city, searching for pleasure and distraction. And working.

Sam, a handsome Jewish man in his mid-thirties, was single. Like Starsky, he was a natural from New York, which has by far, the largest Jewish-American population. He was a sophisticated and loving man who had lost his girlfriend in a car accident some time ago and had never recovered.

Starsky, Hutch and the doctor were on the same roll.

Professionally outstanding, they were passionate and good-looking young men with their hearts broken, so they understood themselves and grew so fond of each other that seemed to be lifetime friends, just like Huggy was. But it was that day, three months ago when they realized the exact extent of their link and their brotherhood and those words written by Bradbury, became significant.

That day, when the fifth victim David Sagay, was killed the bond between the young doctor and the pair of detectives tightened forever.

***************** S&H*****************

The Office in the back was dark. He opened the door, slowly. The hinges made a shrilly sound and he gestured.

He didn't want to be discovered.

He went straight to the desk, Huggy's desk; and opened the top left drawer. He pulled out a folder, he turned on the desk lamp and took pictures of some papers. At that moment, he heard Anita's screaming.

"Hey, you! Get the hell outta here! What are you doing, you looney?"

The woman woke up at the sound of a shadow rummaging through the drawers of Huggy's desk in his Office at the back of The Pits. She was sleeping on the couch because she felt a little sick, and he hadn't seen her. "What are you doing here?" she continued indignantly, "You and your depraved mind! Gimme that camera, give it to me!" She reached for the camera, but the man laughed viciously.

They struggled for some time, so she started hitting him in his chest with her hands. He got rid of her, instantly and pushed her to the floor violently.

"What are you doing here, smelly and fat woman? I'm searching for some papers the owner asked me to. So what?" Russell said surprised.

"You really think that I'm a stupid and poor woman, don't you? You think that I'm an ignorant because I am a Latina? Get outta Mr. Huggy's Office, now!" She stood again and warned him.

Russell didn't move. She got desperate and insisted, "Break it up, or I will call the Cops!" she threatened the man with her right hand pointing to the door, still enveloped in the blanket.

"Oh, yeah, that sounds good enough. I bet you're gonna call that cute pair of boys you are so fond of. The curly one, yeah, what's his name?" he said distractedly. "He can bust me anytime. I wish I could be a victim of his _Police Brutality,_ chick!" He smiled, viciously. "You can bring your pet cops here. I've got bigger plans for everyone."

"You make me feel even sicker if any. I have nausea. I don't know what Mr. Huggy's doing with you here. You're a degenerate. I want you out of this place and now!"

Anita really hated the man.

It'd been three months she was living in hell because of him. She didn't like him.

The man was dark, she knew he was hiding something, and now she had discovered him while he was lurking over his boss' things. She had more of a reason to feel uncomfortable in his presence. "I'm gonna call Mr. Huggy right now", and she went straight to the phone over the coffee table.

She started dialing Huggy's number when she heard the door's been closed.

"Sooner than you believe you'll hear from me again, you pawn dummy!" Russell said while leaving and she heard the vulgar laugh of the man disappearing into the hallway.

Anita started shaking all over.

She put the receiver in its cradle.

And then, she turned off the lights and left the room too.

***************** S&H*****************

On the other side of the wire, while Starsky hung up, it was Sam the one who was concerned and expecting to that conversation to finally start.

Starsky wasn't the same lately, and he worried.

Hutch wasn't the same either and something was definitely wrong.

The doctor was anxious, too and wanted to put an end to the outrageous situation… It had all started the day that David Sagay was killed. He remembered that day vividly...

_"Sam, what's going on?"_ Starsky had asked him when he entered the Squad Room.

_"He killed him. He did it again"_, the doctor said disconsolately.

_"Who? What are you talking about?"_

_"Bruce's son. David. He killed him; he was just a kid, Starsky. 22."_

_"Who is Bruce? What? What happened?"_ the brunet lifted his head when his partner arrived at the office. Hutch's face was a mirror of his suffering soul.

_"They found the body in San Pedro, at the Harbor,"_ Hutch said, _"seven blocks away from Sam's place. The kid was the son of Bruce Sagay, Sam's colleague at Cabrillo; he was studying medicine at UCLA"_

Starsky's eyes filled with tears of impotence and sadness while Hutch kept saying, _"Yesterday. He killed him yesterday, Starsk on Saint David's day."_

On March 1st, 1983 David Sagay was murdered

One year after the day Starsky and Hutch and he had met.

His murdering shocked the doctor to his core and left him completely devastated by the news; Dave and Ken tried to comfort him as best as they could.

He continued remembering that day fondly…

_"What are we gonna do?"_ Sam had asked them.

_"First, we're gonna take you to my place or Starsky's. You have to rest. We'll take care, Sam. Trust us."_ Hutch had said all of a sudden, and they took him to Hutch's place in Venice. Hutch was determined to call it a night, but Starsky insisted that it would be better to get back to the Station and try to reveal the intricacies of Parry's lewd behavior, so they left and he stayed at Hutch's, resting, while the detectives got back to the Station to keep working.

_"God! Madoc Parry! I hate you!_" Starsky had said out of the blue before leaving.

Sam also thought that Parry was a monster but he knew his two friends would protect him, so he slept peacefully and safe for hours until the detectives came back home at dawn. And when they got back, Sam noticed, for the first time, how tired they looked.

The shrink realized that after the 5th assassination the detectives' tempers started swinging ostensibly. While Starsky's outrage was evident, Hutch's lack of responses grew increasingly. Day by day, their moods worsen and with it, they both decayed since they had pledged to end the outrage to no avail. The brunet cop was furious; he had entrusted himself with the difficult task to try to unravel all the loose ends of the investigation through his gut feelings, and he was doing it frantically. The blond one tried, by all means, to intellectualize them… and that different approach was what was separating them in the middle.

They coincided in something.

The need to find Parry, and end his slaughter.

It didn't seem to work.

They felt very cornered and worried, and the doctor was so broken, and everything was so wrong that they couldn't help but feel helpless. They were all pissed off, but Starsky had taken it so personally, that they all could tell that the investigation was destroying him.

Little they knew that the injustice turned out to be the starting point, the beginning of their downfall, since the detectives, Starsky especially, started feeling increasingly guilty about the lack of responses.

Or that was what they all thought.

Neither of them saw any different situation coming.

That day, they all really had been able to feel the bond they shared. They were for each other, to ease their pains and sorrows. Starsky and Hutch were concerned about Sam's state of mind. It was evident.

And it was at that moment when the doctor had intensely realized and had been able to conjure how far the connection between the three men had gone, and the length it could be.

Ressler had gone to the station, one year before that day, to help the cops find the killer and to try to avoid another crime to happen, and everything had been useless.

Their efforts had been so unequal, that they were devastated.

Four more crimes had been committed, and they were hopeless.

David Sagay's murder had been the worst. And it had been three months ago.

Today, the day of the sixth murder at Koreatown the same disaster had happened again, and everybody was still stuck there.

Though Starsky had been able to conclude that this last attack, the 6th, was going to be perpetrated anytime -as it fatally happened-, nobody listened. And as his body weakened to the extent of the endeavor; and his mood got worse, everybody at the Station, all of them, including Hutch especially, were feeling further and further away from him. Starsky was unknown, obsessed, and that thing was killing him.

Sam berated himself for having put him in that position in the first place; he regretted having charged the brunet with the duty to unravel Parry's mystery and catch the killer and stop the killings, because Ressler had already realized that it was the detective who felt cornered, sadly.

And it hurt so much.

That's why he was so happy that Starsky had called.

***************** S&H****************

"Hutch. He called me."

"Sam? Oh my God! 've been looking for you? Did Starsky call you? Thank Goodness. What did he tell you?"

"Nothing of relevance, he tried to explain himself but, man I told him that he should take care of himself, that none of us thought that the assignment should cost him his sanity. That it's a too big prize to pay and that it isn't worth it".

"And he almost killed ya…" Hutch said knowingly.

"Oh yeah! He almost did!"

"Good! Thanks, but you know," the blond man smiled thrilled, "That's so Starsky, Sam. He usually leaves shreds of his life for a friend, for a cause, or an unsolved crime and no one can avoid it, nobody can prevent him to get to such extreme and unhealthy behavior, neither me. I know him that much... Or I think so! Oh! I'm so angry!"

"Yeah, but calm down! It's not your fault, it is mine! I should have asked you before putting him in that position, or maybe, I should've realized myself. I mean, I'm a psychiatrist for Christ's sake! I should've known how he gets. Geez, sometimes I think that it would have been better if our paths had not ever crossed, better if we hadn't known each other"

Hutch stayed silent for a while and then asked him "Nothing would have changed Sam. We're already this deep into this investigation. Why do you say that?"

"I don't know, I'm worried about him",

"Yeah, I am too but It's okay doc! Don't get hard on you, 's not your fault. You don't have a saying in this, no one has a saying in this. It's just Starsky, he's so stubborn! I'll have to handle him, one more time… but you keep me posted, right?"

"Yeah, 'm gonna see him today. He asked me to."

"Okay, you talk to him, please? and then tell me what's going on. I need to know."

"I know, I'll tell you everything. Bye, Hutch" and he hung up the phone. Sam lost his sight on his desk.

"_Why did I go to the Station that day?"_ the doctor wondered and then he smiled.

He was sure that if he hadn't gone, perhaps he might have never known the genuine and profound meaning of friendship. "_What did real friendship mean to me until I met these two? And after meeting Starsky and Hutch, what it means?"_ the doctor thought.

That it is to multiply the good things in life and divide the evils; it's enjoying the silence, when only staying in the other's company becomes comfortable between two people and to realize that friendship is the only thing that will ever hold the world together.

Sam realized after having known Starsky and Hutch all that stuff.

And he felt privileged.

He was going to take care of these men.

He was going to help Starsky get rid of his devils and release his tensions, giving him space and time since being real friends means mastering the art of patience and timing.

And Starsky and Hutch had taught him about that.

He was going to help Hutch get his ghosts out of his mind. He was going to teach him that there is a time to let go allowing the other people the space to wrap themselves in their own thoughts. He was going to help Hutch learn how to wait until it comes the time to pick up the pieces; help him listen, and forget.

Friendship is to believe in the other, and respect the other, and expect nothing, he also had learned.

Friendship, is to hold on; it means to stay connected; fight for the other and let the other fight for you.

It is also to give up a fight and not walk away but stay. Stay, and don't ever get tired or distracted.

It's honoring your friends and taking care of them, and don't take them for granted.

Friendship means inspiration and the discovery that someone else believes in you, that somebody trusts you with his life.

Friendship is powerful stuff.

That thing he learned from Starsky and Hutch.

That was what they had taught him.

He felt happy that Starsky had called him. Yeah.

For him and Hutch.

_To be continued..._


End file.
